Mentor
by RobinQ
Summary: "Could you teach me magic?" Harry asked."Why, you wanted to be powerful enough to defeat me?" Voldemort smirked. Inspired by ChAOtiC ReApEr's challenge 'What if Harry's soul and the part of Voldemort in him merged'. Voldemort as Harry's Mentor. NOT slash. Slow fic. Rated M because I'm paranoid. 2012, RE-UPLOAD Sept 2014, Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing related to Harry Potter. This is an amateur, non-profit work. I write for my own enjoyment. _

**Chapter 1: Dying**

It wasn't his mistake, he kept yelling. He didn't mean to do it; he really doesn't know what had happened. How did he suddenly end up on the rooftop when trying to escape Dudley and his gang? He was so relieved to finally escape the beatings from the 'Harry Hunt'. Little did he know that the punishment from his little escapade was worse than the punches from Dudley and his gang.

Uncle Vernon was there waiting for him when he sneaked back home late in the evening. Dudley of course had told his Dad about his freaky occurrence. And told him that all his gang saw what had happened.

"It's true, Dad, we all saw him! We were chasing him but he was getting away so I told Perks and Mint to wait at the end of the hallway. We cornered him and I'm about to punch him and suddenly he went poof! He disappeared! We looked all around but then we saw him at the rooftop. He's so high up and about to fall, and the janitor had to climb and fetch him down and they all make a fuss…"

That was the final straw. A lot of people saw his freak occurrence. People will ask around and Vernon couldn't stand it anymore. Why did he have to take care of this freak? Why did life got so complicated? He didn't deserve this! He didn't want anything to do with those kind of people, isn't it enough he took the freak in?

Harry cowered. It was worse than he thought. Vernon had never used a golf club to hit Harry before. It was usually the belt, or his fists, or the saucepan, or things from the kitchen. But Harry found the golf club was worse. It was made of metal, and the club was very, very thick. Harry put his arm to cover his head from the onslaught. He thought he heard Aunt Petunia shouting something. It was like Vernon had totally lost control. Harry was yelling, apologizing, anything to stop the swing of the golf club. His back was still stinging, and suddenly he heard, feel, his right arm break, and while he was still numb from all the pain, suddenly the golf club make contact with his exposed forehead and he feel his skull crack and his vision went black. He blissfully didn't feel anything anymore.

From far away, he heard a voice.

{Potter, wake up! You've got to let me help you!} The voice was frantic.

Harry tried to open his eyes but winced. His head was throbbing in pain. Harry groaned. He was slumped on the floor, and by the feel of it, he most probably inside his cupboard... All his body was on fire, and his head feels like splitting into two. Harry guessed that it probably had. He felt like his consciousness was slipping again.

{For goodness sake! Dying at the hand of a muggle of all things... Just wake up, Potter!}

'Who is that?' Harry thought. 'Just let me sleep, I can't stand it anymore… It's too painful…'

{Look, Potter, I can help you, but you've got to let me. I don't want to die, believe me, we _both_ don't want to die! I can make the pain go away. Just let me help, and _keep talking to me!_}

Harry jerked awake as the voice all but yelled the last sentence.

{Yes, you heard me. I can make the pain go away. Trust me. Just trust me. It will feel painful one last time, and the pain will slowly go away…}

The voice was inside his head. It kept repeating itself. It was hypnotic and soothing. Perhaps he was going insane. Perhaps he was dying and that was the voice that will guide him to the place where all dead people go. Where his parents were.

He let go. He trusted that voice.

The pain suddenly intensified. His head! It was like his head split open into thousands of pieces and all kinds of things were trying, forcing to get into his head… His whole, bloodied, broken body suddenly jerked and everything went black again…

He woke up. The pain was bearable now, but his head still feel on fire, but he didn't feel anything else…

He opened his eyes. He looked down at his bloodied arms.

{Look, I've interfered with the nerve signal a bit so you can't feel the pain. It's only temporary and I still need to heal you. Hold your head, yes, there...}

Harry touched his forehead where his head throbbed. The skin was torn opened and blood was trickling into his fingers. The voice asked him to repeat certain phrases, words that Harry's muddled mind couldn't understand and suddenly there was some kind of prick, an intense pain and just as suddenly the skin was sewn shut and the blood stop trickling. The voice kept repeating instructions, and Harry listened and followed faithfully, all the while thinking that he must still be dreaming.

Author's Note: More on the story

This is my first attempt at multi-chapter fic. This story is inspired from the **'Joined Souls Challenge' **by** ChAOtiC ReApEr**. It explores the question **"what would have happened if Harry's soul and the part of Voldemort in him merged?" **

There were several fics that have answered this challenge and I'm trying to write my own version. However, I'm still not sure how much of the requirements that I'll follow. This will be a Grey!Harry, as well as student-mentor relationship between Harry and Voldemort. There will be NO slash. It will be a very slow-paced fic; you have been warned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Rage**

Harry woke up from the strangest dream. He was inside his cupboard, and he woke up on the thin mattress like every night, but his arms and his forehead was full of caked blood. His head still throbbed, and he felt aching pain throughout his entire body. He remembered removing his bloodied t-shirt last night after all, but was so tired and aching and he simply fell asleep, forgetting to turn off the light and forgetting to thank the person who helped him.

{Yes, given the circumstances, I forgive you for not thanking me in saving your life}

He looked around the cupboard. There was no one. He convinced himself he wasn't in the land of the dead and wasn't dreaming. He was just afraid that he was getting insane.

{No you're not dreaming, nor insane, thankfully}, the Voice sound amused.

"Um, hello? Thank you for saving me. Where are you?" Harry asked.

{No need to speak out loud, I'm inside your head}

'Oh. Right.' Harry blinked. He pinched himself; he was still not dreaming.

'Well, thank you very much for saving me. Just who are you? I mean, I know I'm not dreaming, I still feel some pain, and I do hope I'm not crazy. How come you're inside my head anyway? How do you that, healing me just like that?'

{Stop babbling. So many questions... No, you're not dreaming, and I certainly hope you're sane. To answer your questions, I am Lord Voldemort.} The Voice, Lord Voldemort, said this in a very haughty manner.

{Let's see... how to explain this in the easiest way... My soul had been with you since you're just a child, but I was simply... dormant. But tonight you almost died. You're within an inch of your life. If you die, I will end up dying as well. That, is something that I won't allow to happen. But you have to accept me before I can do anything.}

Harry remembered vaguely that the Voice said to trust him. And he did.

{You've accepted me. And I managed to save your life, _our_ life, by the joining of our souls. There was unfortunately no other way; your own magical reserve was severely depleted. I sacrificed my magic and combined it with what's left of your magic to heal your body. I believe these answer your questions?}

Harry was even more confused than ever. How could that explain anything? That actually raised more questions than answers! Just who is Lord Voldermort really? How can he hear him in his head? And how can souls be joined anyway? And what does it mean, magic? Magic doesn't exist!

It seemed that Voldemort can hear his thoughts. Or perhaps Harry was talking inside his head. He wasn't sure.

{You ignorant child! Of course magic exists! How do you explain this?}

Harry looked at his right arm, still bloodied but no longer broken.

{I healed you using magic. Oh, this is unbelievable. After last night you're still sceptical? Well, place your palm there. Imagine the blood disappears, like it never exists. And repeat after me, 'Scourgify'. And it _will_ disappear, like magic}. The last sentence was said sarcastically.

Well, he had nothing to lose, he thought. Harry placed his palm on his blood-caked arm and imagined the blood to disappear. An image of his arm, scrubbed clean of blood, flashed in his mind. In front of his eyes, the caked blood all disappeared. Harry's jaw dropped. His brain finally caught up with yesterday's events. Suddenly he felt a head-splitting headache.

{STOP! STOP these assaults! My head! Questions after questions! This soul-mind-sharing thing is driving me crazy! Oh...} Both Harry and Voldemort now groaned in pain.

{Maybe... Yes, pairing both occlumency and legilimency should work...}

Thankfully whatever Voldemort had done had lessened the headache somewhat. In the following silence Harry tentatively asked, 'Um, Lord Voldemort right? That- that was magic right? Can I do that as well? I mean-'

Whatever Harry was about to say was cut short when he heard the one thing that he hated the most in the whole wide world. His Uncle Vernon's voice; shouting and cursing heavily. Harry felt his headache began anew. His chest started to constrict, and his blood began to boil.

Uncle Vernon, who had almost killed him! Without Lord Voldemort's help, he'd died last night! What was the reason that made Uncle Vernon so angry? Just because he saved himself from Dudley's clutches? Just because some freak accident occurred that let him get away from Dudley? And Aunt Petunia, what did she do? Just watched him being beaten to death? What kind of people are they? What kind of human just watch a child being beaten to near death?

Harry had had enough. He began to see red. His rage filled him. They'd pay, both of them. And Dudley too, the tattle-tale. He had enough as a punching bag. Being beaten for simple things, things that weren't his faults. Being called a freak. Ignored and ridiculed every day. Being told as worthless. Told as unworthy to live, a burden left on their doorstep. Good for nothing. Never had a friend as everyone was afraid of Dudley. Needing to watch his back all the time, needing to run and hide. Being hungry almost every day as he watched them eat what he had cooked, his portion only the leftovers. And all the while no one do anything. No one had helped him...

He had enough.

He kicked open the cupboard door, never realizing that it was bolted from the outside.

He went to the living room where he heard the voice coming from. Vernon was still shouting. Petunia was sobbing. He looked at the clock and realized it was almost noon. 'Why Uncle Vernon isn't at work? Isn't today Thursday?' He thought inconsequentially.

Then they all saw him. Dudley was also there, he realized.

Vernon eyes bulged when he saw him. Petunia face was streaked with tears. But Harry didn't see all that. All he saw was red. He saw his tormentors, his so-called relatives, who hated him so much that they wanted him dead.

Vernon face turned white. He looked like he saw a ghost, or perhaps the devil himself. Harry knew he looked a sight; his hair was still matted with blood, the dried blood on his face from his wounds last night made him looked quite deranged. What he didn't realize was that his _eyes_ were red, and that rage and hate was pouring out of him in black waves.

He stood opposite Vernon and raised his right hand towards Vernon, palm outwards directly facing his Uncle's face. It was Harry's recently mended hand, the arm that was broken when that monster beat him to near death. So suddenly and without a word, Vernon was lifted from his feet towards the ceiling and flung bodily to the end of the wall. He was slammed into the cabinet hosting so many duck porcelain figurines that Petunia had collected. The crash that followed seemed to shake the entire house. Vernon lay under the white debris of porcelain and plates and whimpered in pain. Aunt Petunia, shaken, screamed in fright and rushed towards her husband. Dudley simply stared opened mouth, too terrified to even move.

Harry wasn't finished. Years of beatings caught up with him. He raised his palm again and Vernon twitches. Vernon screamed as thousands upon thousands of needles and knives got under his skin, and then every nerve, every fibre of his being is being fried so that he feels like he's burning alive. He screamed and screamed, begging Harry to stop, please stop, have mercy and just kill him.

Aunt Petunia then flung herself onto Harry, knocking his hand away. She grovelled in front of Harry, clutching his pants, tears streaking down her face.

"Please Harry, please let him go. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, he's not going to hurt you again, I'm sorry, so sorry, I'd never let him or anyone hurt you again, please..."

Harry didn't hear her, couldn't hear anything except the _sound_ of his rage, all he saw was a woman whimpering, pleading to save her husband's life. He saw the woman who watched while he suffer, who simply stood there watching and did nothing...

He raised his right hand again, palm up, towards Petunia, and watched her flung towards the wall, her small frame crumpled when her back hit the wall. She whimpered painfully.

Harry turned to Dudley then, his cousin, the boy who tormented him every single day of his life, who leads a pack of boys, no, wolves who continue to seek and pummel him every chance they got, just to show who's stronger, who's in charge, or just took it as a hobby to see him suffer. Dudley was still rooted on the spot, face as white as a sheet, and a dark stain was forming in front of his pants and now starting to drip onto the carpet. Harry felt like laughing now, who's stronger, eh? He'd never pissed in his pants before, no matter how scared, how badly beaten he was.

He walked towards Dudley then, watching his face and enjoying the feeling of being on control, being the one who caused the fear instead of the one who cowered. He raised his palm again but before he managed to do anything, Petunia pleaded from the floor, "Not Dudley, not Dudley, spare him, please"

Something twitched inside his heart, he tried to ignore the feeling but those words kept on repeating.

The words mutated, changed, Not Harry, Not Harry and he heard a too familiar voice, a woman's voice that kept hearing in his dreams, "Please not Harry!" It kept repeating and repeating and then changing "Please … have mercy… have mercy…" and the woman screamed and those green lights came...

He dropped his hand and clutches his head, his head felt like bursting again. He dropped on his knees and whimpered then, the woman voice kept repeating "have mercy… have mercy…" on and on and all the while his head feels like it's going to burst. He screamed and screamed, in his voice and not in his voice, so that what was coming from his mouth sound unearthly and like coming from the depth of hell.

Slowly his head stopped pounding and his vision cleared. He no longer saw red, all the while the voice kept repeating "Please… have mercy…" and then Harry wept. The black waves surrounding him soon dissipated and the only sound were whimpers from Vernon and sobs from Petunia. Dudley swayed on the spot and collapsed on the floor, but Petunia, who had crawled to her son managed to catch Dudley and cradled him on her lap.

Harry, his voice thick from weeping, suddenly voiced, "How did my mother die? How did my parents die?"

Aunt Petunia, who still cradled the unconscious Dudley had thought the question was addressed to her. She hesitated but in a low voice finally told the truth that she had hidden for nearly ten years. "They were killed. Killed by a madman."

Harry looked up and stared at her Aunt. "Not a car crash? Not drunks?"

She whispered, wondering what will happen to her now for hiding the truth for so long. "No, Harry. They died protecting you. They were killed by an evil wizard. The Dark Lord."

"Lord Voldemort?"

Petunia shivered. She wondered how he knew the name. She hadn't heard nor spoken that name for years. "Yes Harry. Voldemort. He tried to kill all of you, but you're the only one who survived."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Why?" Harry repeated over and over again.

Petunia just stared at his nephew.

After a while Harry suddenly laughed. Threw his head back and laughed and laughed until he cried.

The one who killed his parents all those years ago was the one who saved his life last night.

**A/N**: Reviews appreciated


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing related to Harry Potter. This is an amateur, non-profit work. I write for my own enjoyment. _

**Chapter 3: The Dream**

It was two days after Harry lost control. Harry had ignored his constant headaches and the buzzing in his ears. He didn't hear Voldemort's voice again, or maybe, he tried to ignore it. He never wanted to hear it again, the voice of his parent's murderer. He wished he had never known _that_ name. He wished he had never known _magic_.

After the incident, Aunt Petunia had taken care of everything. She had refused to go to the hospital. Too many questions she said, and Harry knew some of them will get back to her husband and Harry. Luckily her back were only heavily bruised from her impact to the wall; at least she wasn't paralyzed from Harry's fit of rage.

Vernon however, was not so lucky; the effect of whatever Harry did still lingered. He often twitched and occasionally having spasm at odd times during the day. He was now so afraid of Harry that the mere mention of Harry's name would send him to another fit of spasm. He avoided Harry at all cost. In a way, the only good thing from the whole incident was that they all left him alone. They were so afraid of him that they would never bother him again. Dudley cannot even look at him in the eye and could not be in the same room as him.

Harry, after losing control and breaking down, had tried to somewhat apologize to Aunt Petunia for hurting her. She after all, didn't beat him to death, although she hadn't stopped her husband either. She however was still afraid of Harry and didn't want to look at him in the eyes. Her eyes brimmed with tears but she didn't say anything. Harry still wasn't too repentant in what he did to Vernon though, and maybe his Aunt knew that. Or maybe she was still afraid of his sanity when he laughed like mad that day.

So Harry was quite surprised when on the evening of that second day, Aunt Petunia knocked on the cupboard door and said to him, "Go to Dudley's second bedroom. It's cleared. It's your room now."

The room was previously full with Dudley's old toys and trunks of clothes. It was like a junk store. Now though, mostly everything has been cleared away and there was the single bed, the wardrobe, an addition of a desk and a chair, and it was simply a heaven for Harry who had never seen so much luxury. In his ten years of life inside the cupboard under the stairs, he had never seen so much _space_.

Maybe it was her Aunt's way of asking for his forgiveness, to make up for what she had allowed for so long.

Harry had hoped, in the small part of his heart, that perhaps, someday, he could forgive Vernon and Dudley and Aunt Petunia for the years of hell-hole, so that he can find forgiveness for his own actions. But his heart had grown hard, and he wondered if his inability to forgive them indicated that he had become evil, that he had started on the path to become like the man who had killed his parents, the evil Dark Lord. He prayed that he hadn't.

That night, Harry went to sleep in his new room (on a bed! He never had his own bed!) thinking that perhaps Lord Voldemort, his parents' killer, had left him for good.

Unfortunately, it was only his wishful thinking.

A tall, thin man, around forty years old (Harry was never good in estimating people's age) with a pale face, dark hair, and lips so thin that they almost disappear, showed up in his dream. His body was surrounded with a strange pale golden light, like a dome.

They were both standing in a strange place, where all around them were flashes of some _things_ that sometimes flickered, sometimes rushing by. Harry however, did not wonder at the strange sight. He simply glared at the man, somehow knowing exactly who he was.

{You might have avoided me in real life, Harry, but I can still appear in your dream. And you have to sleep sometime}, Voldemort said. He was clearly not amused, having to resort to reaching the boy in his most defenceless state, during his sleep. Luckily the boy was not a natural occlumens.

"What do I have to do to get rid of you?" Harry had cried out in frustration.

{Oh, you'd never get rid of me. You and I are joined in soul. And might I remind you, you were the one who agreed to accept my help. Willingly, I might add.}

"That's because I didn't know who you are! And you said you wanted to help me!"

{And I did help you. I am the one who saved your life; you seemed to conveniently forgotten that little fact.}

"As I haven't forgotten the little fact that you killed my parents!"

{Ah, back to that... Well, Harry, there was nothing that I could have done to reverse that fact, now is there?}

"If I've known who you are, I'd never let you help me! I'd rather die!"

{And unfortunately, that was something that I couldn't allow.}

Harry glared at him in answer. They stood still, facing each other. The golden light around Voldemort started to pulse, seeming to constrict him in pain.

Voldemort, wincing, quickly explained, {Look, Harry, as far as I know there was _nothing_ you and I could have done to get out of this situation. Oh believe me; I wouldn't want to be stuck with you, a ten year old boy living with muggles. Never even hearing about magic in his entire life. But _no_, you had to die, and I had to resort to sacrificing what's left of _my_ magic to save you, so you wouldn't die and bring me with you!}

Voldemort was obviously in a roll.

{I can't even possess you to save your life, because of that blasted protection! No, the only way to save _both_ of us is by combining our magic! And that blasted protection} he spat, {made it so that it can only be allowed if you willingly accept me in both mind _and_ soul! Which meant that our souls are now joined! And the only way this could be undone, as far as I know, is when both of our souls went to the afterlife!}

Harry sat down in shock from the revelation. This meant he was stuck with Voldemort? Forever? His world seemed to crash around him. For a while, neither of them spoke.

"Why then?" Harry was the first to break the silence. He had asked again the question that had plagued him after having a glimpse of the truth from Aunt Petunia.

{Why did I kill your parents? Why did you survive? Why did you survive while I was killed? Why did I save you?}

"Yes. All of them. I wanted to know what happened. Why you killed my parents. Why are you _here_ in my head in the first place."

{That, Harry would take a long time to answer... And I need some answers myself. The best way is to see it from my memories. Memories of the night your parents are murdered. Are you strong enough for it?}

Harry swallowed. This was his chance to learn what happened. To actually see his parents, whom he had never known, except for what he thought was his mother's voice in his dreams.

"...Yes."

{Very well. You will see what I see.}


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: That Halloween Night**

_{Very well. You will see what I see}._

The flashes of some _things_ around Harry and Voldemort began to flicker faster. Harry realized with a start that they were actually memories. He saw flashes of his life around the Dursleys, him weeding out Aunt Petunia's garden, him barely listening to Aunt Petunia's rant about how useless he was and how he was a bad influence on darling Duddikins, and that single memory of the kind teacher, Mrs Waters who always find time to talk to him every morning before school started, before she transferred out.

There were other memories, _not his_, Harry realized, playing alone with a snake in a field, reading a strange looking book, waving a stick on his (but not _his_) hand making some weird movements, of a dark, ominous looking cave, of a huge mansion, and what was that? A gigantic snake? People in strange masks... And someone, a man, was screaming... And then Harry realized that they were Voldemort's memories. The memories were from Voldemort's point of view. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

{This is what we're looking for}, said Voldemort. {The memories from that Halloween night}. He had singled out a memory from the masses of flickering memories and it came out to the front, like a screen in a movie. Harry watched it, mesmerized.

_A wooden gate came into view. A pudgy man pushed open the wooden gate, looked back to him _(to Voldemort, Harry reminded himself) _and said with a halting whisper, "Master, like I've promised." Where a house shouldn't have been seen, a two-storey wooden cottage, painted with a sunny yellow paint now came into view._

{Wormtail: the two-faced traitor. There are many things I would like to ask him...} Voldemort hissed. Harry jumped; he had nearly forgotten the real Voldemort was standing near him, also watching the memories_. _

_There was a small well-kept garden in front of the house (lilies and roses, thought Harry distractedly), and a swing at the front porch. There was a small red toy truck near the swing, on its side. _It made Harry smile. It was a house full of love, full of laughter, Harry was sure. _My home_, thought Harry. It was about to be destroyed.

"_Good. Stay here, Wormtail. Lucius, Avery, guard the perimeter." _

_Memory-Voldemort strode into the front garden. Without pausing, he took out four stone slabs with strange writings carved on them. He raised his wand to the stones and whispered a string of incantations. Long ribbon-like colours of blue and red light came out of the wand and contacted with the writings, making them glow with golden lights. Voldemort raised the stones and they shot into the night, to the four corners of the house. A flash of light illuminated the night and the house was encased in a dome of golden light. The dome pulsed briefly before disappearing. All these were completed in mere seconds._

_With that they had announced their arrival to the Potters._

{Those were ward stones. I had erected anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards around the house}, Voldemort explained. {This means this house was sealed. Whoever's inside the house will be unable to escape by teleportation and any other magical means. They are effectively trapped inside their own safehouse.} He said this without any emotion, and Harry felt shivers run down his spine.

_Memory-Voldemort blew the front door opened and Harry could see a sitting room. Harry heard a man's voice shouting from inside, "...I'll hold him off!"_

_Harry briefly saw a flash of silver light run through the window to the pitch black night outside and he suddenly was face-to-face with a man- his father._

"_It will be too late for help, Potter."_

_Harry had only a moment to notice the man had the same messy jet-black hair and round glasses, just like him, before a stream of curses (for that what the lights were) flew from the man's wand towards him. _

Harry yelled and ducked and the real Voldemort next to him laugh. Harry had forgotten that this was a mere memory; he cannot be hurt, he cannot participate. He was only an observer.

{Your father, James Potter was powerful wizard. He did not go down without a fight.}

But Harry could see that James was no match for Voldemort in terms of power_. _

_It was obvious that the Memory-Voldemort was mocking his father, laughing while lazily twirling his wand to deflect the stream of curses away. He could literally see the sparks of power surrounding him, the Memory-Voldemort. _

"_It's a shame really. A wizard of your strength and standings will be highly valued under my command. This is my last offer, Potter. What say you?"_

"_You'd think I'd agree with you? After all you did? You were going to kill off my family!" _

_With that, James disappeared under a curtain of mist. Suddenly, three wolves came rushing from the mist towards Memory-Voldemort, snarling viciously. A flick of Voldemort's wand sent two of the wolves flying towards the couch before bursting into chunks of stones. Another one was hurled towards the ceiling but before it burst it transformed into long, sharp spikes and Voldemort banished it towards the mist, which dissipated. James was nowhere to be found._

"Wolves?" Harry asked.

{The wolves are transfigured or changed, I believe from the figurines on that mantle. Transfiguration is one of your father's favourite tricks. You can change an item at the molecular level; you can change the size, the appearance, and the structure of an item to another item.}

_While the real Voldemort was talking, the view had already shifted. It seemed that Memory-Voldemort had given James enough fighting chances. With a speed that was too fast to follow, a stream of curses sweep around the sitting room. The curses blasted the couches, the coffee table, and the fireplace into pieces. One curse blasted the whole wall, and suddenly James was visible near the rubbles near the staircase. He was bleeding. He dodged the next two curses, deflected one curse away by a hastily erected shield, but the next curse shattered the shield with its sheer power. The impact hurled him towards the doorway to the kitchen and he crumpled to the floor. James slowly struggled to his feet. He refused to die laying down. His wand was clutched tightly in his bleeding hand._

_Without pausing in his flurry of spells, Voldemort cried out "Avada Kedavra": the killing curse. A jet of green light impacted James's chest and he fell down again, unmoving. His eyes were still opened as if surprised, mouth still forming words of spells. _

It was over. Harry dropped to his knees; he simply could not believe it. It was too quick; the fight had taken less than ten minutes and his father was now dead. Harry began to sob. It was only a memory but it was still too real.

_Memory-Voldemort walked over to the staircase. Apparently he had somehow deduced that the rest of the family was hiding upstairs. When he was about to take the first step on the stairs, the air in front of him suddenly exploded. _

"_Interesting. Intent-based? And yet, it is futile."_

And then Harry almost yelled.

_The ceiling was rushing towards him – the Memory-Voldemort had flown upwards to the second floor instead of bothering to take down whatever traps that (Harry presumed) James had wasted precious minutes preparing. _

"You can fly!"

{Yes. And no, normal wizards cannot fly. And watch this closely Harry, this is what I needed to understand. What happened that night? What did you mother do? She obviously used the time I was distracted fighting your father to prepare something. A last resort, as she had realized that there was no way out of this.}

_Memory-Voldemort now casted a wide-area spell around the second floor landing. A door glowed, and revealed the room's occupants: a woman, kneeling in front of a crib, and a baby lying inside the crib. He strode to the door, and burst it open with another spell. He had laughed, knowing full well that the occupants were trapped inside. _

And then Harry saw his mother for the first time: she had flowing red hair, a kind face and a pair of startlingly green eyes. _Like mine_, thought Harry.

{Lily Potter, the Ministry Unspeakable. I had underestimated her that night.}

_Lily Potter was standing defiantly in front of the crib. There were tear-streaks running down her cheeks; she had known that James was already dead, trying to protect them. She was holding her wand in front of her with both hands like a sword. Her hand was trembling but her stand did not waver._

"_Please, not Harry! Please – I'll do anything," his mother was pleading, not for her own life, but for his. Harry's life. _

Harry closed his eyes, feeling another fresh stream of tears coming.

"_Stand aside – stand aside, you silly girl!" the Memory-Voldemort was now facing Lily. He brandished his wand, motioning her to get out of the way so he can get at the Baby-Harry._

Harry was surprised. Did Voldemort wanted to spare his mother? He had thought Voldemort were after his parents.

"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead," Lily pleaded, trying to appeal to the monster in front of her. She still had not moved an inch, fully shielding Baby-Harry with her own body. _

"_You should be proud; your little boy shall be an important part of the Dark Lord's conquer of Death."_

Did this meant Voldemort was after him all along? Harry felt his blood turned cold.

_Memory-Voldemort had taken out glowing rune stones from his robes. Lily's eyes went wide when she saw the stones started to float towards Baby-Harry in the crib._

"_Not Harry! Please … have mercy... have mercy..." _

_The memory-Voldemort let out a cruel laugh as he ignored Lily's pleas. Well, he _did_ give the girl a choice, a chance to live, didn't he? He cried out 'Avada Kedavra' for the second time that night._

_Lily let out a scream as the dreaded green light of the killing curse hit her and she crumpled to the floor. _

Harry let out a cry; he felt that his heart was ripped for the second time that night.

_Memory-Voldemort laughed. It was a victorious night for him. He had just eliminated a pair of Dumbledore's strongest fighters in one night. Everything went according to plan._

{Yes, it was a costly mistake that I made. I did not stop to wonder why Lily Potter, a strong and powerful fighter like her would go down without a fight. I thought victory was mine that day. I was too confident.}

"_Now, the boy: 'the one who had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord'. Well, that would not happen now would it?" Memory-Voldemort had looked down at Baby-Harry who was now standing inside the crib. Baby-Harry started crying when he saw the stranger – the monster in front of him. Where did his mother go? _

_Memory-Voldemort took out something else from his robe and held it on his left hand: a golden brooch with an intricate design of a winged lion. The most outstanding feature was the blood-red stone in the clasp of the winged lion claws. The brooch floated towards the crib, pulled by strands of glowing green lights from the rune stones. The stones circled Baby-Harry and the brooch hovered directly above his head. Baby-Harry stopped crying, he was mesmerized by the brooch and the stones and raised his arms, trying to catch them. _

_Raising his wand, Memory-Voldemort uttered the killing curse for the third and last time. _

{Watch.}

_The green light of the killing curse left Memory-Voldemort's wand. But instead of impacting Baby-Harry's chest, the curse hit a golden light that had suddenly appeared around him, reverberating with a gong-like sound. It rebounded right back towards the caster: the Memory-Voldemort. He was caught completely by surprise; there was no time to evade the curse, no time to conjure a barrier. It was the first time that someone survive the killing curse, much less bounded back the curse. The curse hit him and the Memory-Voldemort screamed. Everything turned black. _

The memory had ended.

**A/N:**

I always thought Lily Potter deserved more recognition. She did cause Voldemort's destruction that night after all... So what do you think of the fights?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The Prophecy**

_The memory had ended._

Voldemort, it seemed, was still contemplating what had transpired that Halloween night. He was tapping his chin repeatedly, all the while talking to himself.

{Whatever she did, it interferes with the ritual for the Horcrux creation... Did her ultimate sacrifice, willingly giving up her life-force created the protection shield? What magic did she use? Ancient ones? Spells that she found during her work as an Unspeakable? She only had a short amount of time. Did she anticipate it and prepare it beforehand? How? Did the botched ritual force a part of my soul into him, the vessel? But why didn't he die from it? And I end up losing control over him... and how do this protection works? How does it extend well after her death? Too bad the only one who had all the answers is dead...}

Harry couldn't understand half of what Voldemort was saying, but he got the gist of it. His mother had done something and then sacrificed her life so that he could live. Even Voldemort was still trying to understand what his mother did. And it seemed that his mother had saved him again, this time from Voldemort's control.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. There were too many questions, but he'll start with the more important ones.

"Why were you after me?"

{Ah, right to the crux of the matter. I expected no less from you} Voldemort smiled grimly.

{I'll start from the beginning, shall I? You see, before you were born, there was a prophecy made about the one who had the power to defeat the Dark Lord:

'_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... _

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...'_

That was the prophecy made by the descendant of the Great Seer Trelawney. Now, in retrospect, I wonder about the sheer coincidence... a Prophecy made right when I was about to win the War, made in Dumbledore's presence no less! Right useful isn't it, the power of hindsight?

But at that time, like it or not, I couldn't not take action. How couldn't I, if there exists the possibility of someone who have the power to defeat me in the future? So I searched around... and what do you know, two children were born at the end of July, both children of those who had escaped from me not once, but three times...}

"Two children?"

{Yes. There was another child that fits the Prophecy. Intriguing don't you think, _two _child, like a back-up plan if somehow one fails in the task? And they were both children of the Order members...}

"The Order?" Harry interrupted.

{The Order of the Phoenix. A group of people who opposed me. Lead by one Albus-too-many-names-Dumbledore, the so-called Leader of Light} Voldemort said in contempt.

'_Dumbledore_?' Thought Harry. '_Maybe he could help..._'

{Oh, don't get your hopes up, Potter. He will send you to the Veil of Death if it means ending the threat of the Dark Lord once and for all. Do you think he'll help you, knowing that you harbour my soul inside of you? And that our souls are irreversibly joined? Do you think he'd take agreeably the threat, however small, of another Dark Lord rising? And what do you know; perhaps he would even think that killing you might even fulfil the Prophecy?}

Harry had forgotten that Voldemort could somehow understand what he's thinking. He felt his hope got crushed again.

{Now, where was I? Ah yes. Two children, from two families, that fit the Prophecy. And so, which one do I eliminate first? Both families had known the danger, and had gone into hiding and were well-protected. Surprisingly, the solution comes right at my feet, from a rat named Wormtail.}

"Wormtail?" He remembered the pudgy man.

{Yes... Peter Pettigrew, one your father's so-called closest friend. He betrayed your family's hidden location, in hopes to raise his favour in my eyes. Now however, I simply wonder if he was another spy, sent by Dumbledore to trap me with the Prophecy...}

Harry tried to digest everything that he'd seen, everything that Voldemort had told him. Voldemort had gone after him, and thus after his family because of a Prophecy. A prophecy that foretold that a child had the power to defeat the Dark Lord. And in a way, he had defeated the Dark Lord, but at what cost? And what does it mean, a trap for the Dark Lord?

Voldemort right away interrupted Harry's thought, {Well, how do we know whether the Prophecy was a true Prophecy or not? It could be a fake, a plan devised by Dumbledore, so that I'd go after the child. A trap could be in place...}

Voldemort laughed, {Now I am thinking that yes, perhaps even Severus could be a traitor... Oh, what would I give for a piece of Dumbledore's!}

Harry grimaced. All these were too much for him. He really didn't know anything about the War, about plans, schemes, Prophecies, traitors... magic... he felt like he was caught in a story, where he was in the last to know anything.

"So, what now? I'm stuck with you. And it seemed the one who holds the answer is that Dumbledore..."

{Yes, the one who might as well as kill you before giving you the answer. We need more information. We need to be more protected. Other people might resort to killing you. I do not have the power to save you again. I have used my all to save your life, Potter.} He was back to calling Harry, Potter.

"To save your own life, more like..." Harry muttered.

Harry wondered how it would be like living with another soul, a Dark Lord's soul no less, inside of him. He wondered if people might kill him if they knew about that fact. Harry reached a decision. He had enough of people trying to kill him; The Dark Lord, Uncle Vernon, after this who knows who else? He needed to learn to protect himself. From both outside and inside force...

"Could you teach me magic?" Harry finally asked.

**A/N:**

A short but one of the hardest chapters to write. Now, a lot of the theories were mere speculations from Voldemort. True or not, we shall see. And after this, we'll listen as Voldemort teach Harry about magic.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing related to Harry Potter. This is an amateur, non-profit work. I write for my own enjoyment. _

**A/N:**

**As promised, the lessons on magic. But somehow the lessons became lectures; I had re-written it, divide the chapter into two, and still... But well, enjoy reading.**

**Chapter 6: Wands and... History Lesson?**

"Could you teach me magic?" Harry finally asked. "Like what my father did?"

{So, you're aiming to be powerful enough to finally defeat me.}

"That's – that's not what...," Harry spluttered.

Voldemort only smirked, {No need to lie, Potter. I will always know.}

His voice turned serious, {Now, having a goal is good. You have the drive to learn. Always remember that. And being ignorant will kill us both. We are unfortunately stuck in this predicament until our souls parted to the next life. Death, I'm afraid is not possible and I intend to keep it that way. So, you will learn everything I teach you and YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME.} The threat in his voice was obvious.

{We will start the lessons this morning, after you've woken up. There is no point in practicing magic only in your dreamscape. Furthermore, you need the rest; your magical core needed to be recharged for the lessons.}

Harry simply nodded. He was going to learn magic! He will be as strong as his parents. Like his father who managed to hold Voldemort on his own. Like his mother who managed to thwart Voldemort's plan and devised a way to keep him safe. Oh, he had to learn from his parents' killer, that was true, but it was _necessary_. If he could use it to defeat him later, that would be sweet revenge.

Voldemort, in his part, had been thinking of his better options. Being trapped in a ten year-old boy, reduced to a mere _presence_ while bound with the boy's mother's protection was not a situation that he could have ever imagined. And there was nothing he could have done to solve this. And he had no control of the boy, as long as the boy and the protection thought of him as a threat. So, he improvised.

He'd make the boy started to rely on him, and learn to trust him. He'd teach him magic, something that the boy had craved. That'd be a good start. He'd be like a _mentor_, of sorts. And not without saying, keep the boy alive. He had a nasty suspicion that his other self – the rest of his soul not intended to be the Horcrux, had managed to get away that night and will try to find the boy again to finish the work. And what about his followers, were they looking for revenge? He had to deal with that as the time comes, one way or another... And finally, he'd gain control of the boy, even if it'll take years, and no one would have thought Lord Voldemort would be resurrected in the one who had defeated him...

...

The next morning, Harry woke up feeling better than he'd ever felt. He got breakfast of some toast and rejoiced the fact that he wasn't forced to cook breakfast for the Dursleys anymore. He planned to use his newfound freedom and the privacy of his new bedroom for the magic lessons. Plus, he had no more school for summer break had just started (and he didn't mind at all that he had missed the last few days of school) and he was now free!

This summer would be interestingly different for Harry...

{You need not be so worried for your magic lesson, Potter. I am not going to ask you to kill someone.} Voldemort finally said, amused after Harry hadn't stop fidgeting since finishing his breakfast. Harry had gone back to his room to begin the lesson after informing Aunt Petunia he wanted to be left alone for the rest of the day. Not that she cared.

"I'm not worried –", Harry began but stopped.

Wait, does that mean Voldemort couldn't read his mind anymore? Why? And how did he read his mind last night? Then it hit him: the dreamscape! Voldemort could read his mind there, but not in real life.

Harry grinned.

'I didn't have a wand!' thought Harry. There was no comment. 'Voldemort is an arsehole!' added Harry in his mind.

There was still no answer, no angry comment from Voldemort. This would be loads better than he initially thought. But then again, Voldemort could simply act like he didn't know what Harry was thinking, so he could use it against Harry later. It wasn't a comforting thought, not at all.

Finally Harry asked out loud, "How will I perform magic, really? I didn't have a wand. That's what the wooden sticks are, right? I saw you, my dad and my mum all have wands to do magic."

Harry had thought about that fact and he realized it was quite funny really; he had read in fantasy novels in the school library that wizards use wands to perform magic. He guessed stories may have some basis in real life after all.

{Sticks?} Voldemort grimaced. {Well, in a way it is. And it was a good concern. And next time, just ask if you had any questions. I didn't want you to muck up any spells or rituals because you are too afraid to ask.}

Harry simply nodded; that will take some time getting used to. Uncle Vernon usually decked him if he asked too many questions while Aunt Petunia would berate him.

{So, to begin with, yes, wizards and witches perform magic with wands, which is a type of wood with magical core in them. A wand chooses the wizard, so to say, that is most compatible with it. To most wizards, the wands acted like a magical focus for the wizards that refine their magic, make the spells more precise, and with it they'd be able to regulate the right amount of magical power required for each spells so they will get what the result that they wanted.}

"But I don't have a wand," Harry interjected again.

{Yes, unfortunately, you cannot get a wand yet. Not until you get your Hogwarts letter.} Before Harry could ask, Voldemort continued, {Hogwarts is the school for magical children to learn magic when they turned eleven. You should get Hogwarts admittance letter sometime this summer.} Voldemort should remember Harry's birthday after all.

"So I can only learn magic after I get the Hogwarts letter and the wand?"

{Not really. Remember, Harry, you have done magic without a wand before.}

"You mean when I tortured the Dursleys," Harry said hollowly. He had pushed the incident out of his memories, as he hated remembering the incident and the way he had completely lost control.

{Yes. And a very good display of wandless magic too; Banishing charm and Cruciatus curse... I cannot believe you managed to perform _that_ one on Vernon} Voldemort chuckled.

"If I can do magic without a wand, why do I need it in the first place?" Harry ignored Voldemort's last comment; he didn't want to remember the incident.

Voldemort paused. How do you explain this without going to the history of magic itself?

{That will take a long time to answer, and we need history lessons for that. But let me make this easier for you to grasp. There were many types of magic and many types of magic users. In Ancient times, magic users are more attuned to the natural elements, such as fire, the wind, the sea, the trees, and these natural elements can be harnessed by really powerful wizards and witches. These powerful magic users are called Mages, and in the Old Days they did not use wands. These Mages have absolute control of their magic and simply used their mind to control their magic. Others use their bare hands, complex rituals, incantations and staves. In a different culture they might use other things: rings, amulets, so on.

In time however, magic become more diverse as humans added another component to magic: the complexity of a human mind. The human mind is the most magnificent thing ever created; the things that could be accomplished by a human's mere imagination are simply astounding. Thus wizards and witches no longer only harness natural elements; they invented, added things like mind manipulation, illusion and changed people's intent and emotion. With the advancement of medicine, soon magic can cause complex sickness and change the nature of living and non-living things, and affect the nature around him. Wizards and witches wanted more and more complex and precise results, thus more complex spells were developed.}

{Got it so far?}

"Yes, I think."

{Good. Now, in the Old Days, magic users apprenticed themselves to a Master, until the apprentices mastered the magic and become a Master themselves. However, these practices had become increasingly rare; too many types of magic, too complex subjects, too many students but not enough Masters who are willing to take apprentices. It also didn't help as magic users are jealous, miserable bunch of people, who hoard magical knowledge like hoarding gold... familial magic indeed} Voldemort took a deep breath. There seemed to be deeply harboured resentments there.

{Furthermore, the complexity of magic using the power of the mind, rituals and the nature of staves and amulets make it harder for the knowledge to be passed down. A lot of Ancient Magic was lost as the precise steps and requirements are lost with each generation as fewer and fewer wizards are able to Master the magic...

Imagine, we are now unable to Master the sea, the wind, the trees and the rest of the nature to do our bidding. We can only produce the effect, an imitation, not command them like the Ancient ways. The remaining ones who knew simply _refused_ to divulge that information, no matter what was _done_ to them...} Voldemort scowled the last sentence.

Harry shuddered; he didn't know what kind of torture those people had endured, or even whether they were still alive, but at least Voldemort could not learn that knowledge.

{Therefore, to avoid losses of anymore important knowledge, wizards needed a tool. A simple tool that can be used as a teaching aid, as a way to control the wizard's power, and can be used even by the less magically powerful among magic users. So wands were created to be the tool. With its magical core compatible with the wizards' magic, the wand is used to focus the magic, making it more controllable, refined and precise. Even wizards with low magical power can use wands to produce the more complex spells, as less amount of magic was required. So more spells could be invented and taught to others, and soon Hogwarts, the school for wizarding children was then established.

However, like all good things, there were bad things that come with it... Newer generation of magic users had relied too much upon their wands and regarded them as absolutely necessary. Some even made it so that without their wands, they are absolutely helpless. They had lost the ability to cast even a simple spell without their wands. Such weak wizards are not worthy to hold a wand in the first place!

Also, magical authority preferred wands rather than wandless magic and thus promote them. There's a good reason for that: for better regulation of magic. Spells performed with wands can be traced back to the caster's wand, and the boundaries of what can or cannot be taught could be recorded and stated easily. This is the opposite of wandless magic; it is harder to trace back, harder to define the boundaries of good and bad, and well, authorities simply hated things that they could not define and control.

So yes, magic with wands or without, there's the good and the bad. A wand isn't essential; it is simply a tool to help you refine the control of your magic and help perform the more complex spells. And I will teach you both; wandless magic and magic with wands.}

It will be a bit unconventional, really, refining the boy's control of magic without a wand, but then he, Voldemort had done the exact same thing before he got to Hogwarts. Surely the boy could keep up with him?

{Enough with the history lessons. You can perform wandless magic; you've proven that before. Now, I need to determine your aptitude for different types of magic. This can be determined from your accidental magic. Did you remember anything happened to you that are strange and simply unexplainable? Tell me.}


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Components of Magic**

_{Did you remember anything happened to you that are strange and simply unexplainable? Tell me.}_

For the next half an hour Harry told Voldemort about strange things that happened in his life. He told Voldemort what the Dursleys called 'freakish' things that earned him a scolding, a beating, or a few nights without any food, locked in the cupboard. There was the time when he turned his teacher's wig blue when he didn't turn in his homework and the teacher didn't believe his excuse (Dudley had hidden it). That time when he found himself on the rooftop as he was trying to hide from Dudley's gang. When Dudleys' ghastly old shirt shrink until it will never fit him when Aunt Petunia forced him to wear it. When his hair re-grow overnight to exactly like his original messy state when Aunt Petunia gave him a horrendous, almost bald-like haircut.

{Re-grow?} Voldemort seemed more surprised at the last event than the rest.

Harry was quite perplexed. He had thought that finding himself suddenly at the rooftop was the strangest (and most exciting) thing that had happened to him. Consequently, that was the event that led him to be beaten to within an inch of his life, which had lead him to discover magic and Voldemort's existence.

{Well, the rest of these 'freakish' things can be explained with what we wizards called 'accidental magic'. This happened to magical children who had not mastered their magic. It usually occurs when you are stressed, or forced, or in danger. You are not in control of it, it happened subconsciously when your magic reacted to your intent and emotion.}

{Now, when you were trying to escape your cousin, you _apparated_, or teleported to the nearest place that your cousin and his gang cannot reach. Apparition is the common method for wizards to move from one place to another. Now, this is good. This means that you had a natural aptitude for apparition, and I can teach you once you have better control of your magic.}

It was a nice change, thought Harry, to find out that he was _good_ at something, after always being told that he was useless, stupid and freakish.

{Now, that blue wig and shrinking of the shirt were the result of what we wizards called _charms_ – accomplished by using different spells, by saying different incantations or wand movements.}

{However, what you said 're-growing your hair' was something more unique. This ability is called _transfiguration_: changing the nature of something to another, as you had to re-grow your hair back from nothing. And human transfiguration is an advanced magic... But, as unlikely as it is, we need to explore the other possibility... Could you test something for me, Harry? Go and cut your hair.}

"What!? No way!" He still remembered the agony of thinking he had to go to school with that horrible haircut.

Voldemort could have rolled his eyes. {It will grow back. You had done this before. You can do it again.}

Harry's stubbornly refused and Voldemort sighed. He decided that perhaps he should have started with the basics. At least the boy will become more aware of his magical capabilities. And no need to resort to the more _advanced_ method of bending people to his will. Yet.

So he explained.

{Harry, listen to me. Magic requires a few components. Most obviously you need your magical reservoir, if your magic is depleted, you can't perform spells anymore. Don't worry; this had little chance of happening if you are careful.}

{Now, remember this well: V-I-B-E, VIBE. Visualization, intent, belief, and emotion: the four important components of magic.

First component: _Visualization_. You need to visualize, imagine in your mind what you want. You want to turn your teacher's wig blue? You had to see it clearly in your mind that the wig had turned blue.}

Harry frowned, thinking, "So, that day I had imagined that the shirt won't fit me."

{Exactly. You visualized the shirt smaller and smaller. You need to visualize the result clearly for the spell to work more efficiently. Usually, a better concentration helps visualization.}

{Second: _Intent_. Intent is actually the core of magic. What do you intend the magic to do for you? Your magic recognizes that you want something to happen and it made it real. This is most important: you need to understand magic itself is neutral; there is no Dark or Light Magic, only _intent_. What you intend do with your magic is what makes it good or bad. The same spell that is used to reduce pain can be used to cause torture. Magic, in essence, is like a tool, how you use it is up to you.}

He hated with passion the classification of magic into Dark Arts or restricted magic just because it was used by Dark Wizards to cause harm. For him, _all_ knowledge and magic should be accessible to be learned.

{Third: _Belief_. This sounds easy, but strangely the hardest for wizards to master. You need to believe you are able to achieve the result that you want. Magic recognizes if you are unsure of yourself: the spell might not work, the spell will be weaker, and the result might be not be want you wanted.

Before, I had asked you to cut your hair, and you refused. You did not believe that you can grow it back. And because you didn't believe it, the hair won't grow back, or it will grow back, but slowly. And because you fail the first time, you began to doubt yourself. The spell will no longer work correctly, and that made you think you can never do it. And so that's how it becomes true, you will not be able to do the spell anymore. You see how dangerous doubting yourself is? You need to believe, _really_ believe that you can do it.}

Harry nodded. He will not make that mistake again.

{And lastly: _Emotion_. Magic reacted to our emotion. For example things will explode around a wizard that loses himself to anger or despair, and sometime magic will leak out from him, harming those around him. Also, for spells that are powered by emotion, the stronger the emotion, the stronger the spell.}

{So, young Harry, were all these information too much to absorb?}

**A/N:**

**Next chapter: some hands-on magic. **_**Finally**_**, thought Harry. Yes, yes, I'm trying not to bore you to death.**

**Also, a lot of credit to the story '****30 Minutes That Changed Everything' by ****Radaslab. This story had inspired me in writing this, and I simply love the blood wards explanation. **

**Another credit is the absolutely amazing story 'Brutal Harry' by LordsFire, from which the golf club scene is inspired. Seriously, read Brutal Harry.  
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	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing related to Harry Potter. This is an amateur, non-profit work. I write for my own enjoyment. _

**Chapter 8: Magic Hands?**

_{So, young Harry, were all these information too much to absorb?}_

Harry had looked quite dazed by the end of the long lectures. But then he jumped and said eagerly, "So, can I do magic now?"

Seeing how happy Harry was, Voldemort had remembered his own excitement as a child when he first discovered his extraordinary abilities. Things that he can do that other people can't, things that made him feel _special_. He could have smiled.

Instead, he simply continued, {First, Harry, _sit_. For wandless magic you need a very good concentration, and an even better visualization.}

Harry obeyed, sitting down cross-legged on the floor.

{Now, I need you to close your eyes... Feel your magic inside of you and feel its power. Imagine inside your body there is a glowing, bright light... Imagine that is where your magic comes from. That is where your magical reservoir is.}

Closing his eyes, he imagined the bright light inside of him. He followed Voldemort's voice; he imagined the light was glowing, pulsing, flowing around his body, starting from above, from his head, down towards where his heart was, along his arms to the tip of his fingers, down the length of his legs to his toes.

{Good. Now in your mind, visualize a sphere of light forming right above your palm. No need to make it big, a small one will suffice.}

"As big as a golf ball?" Asked Harry, imagining Uncle Vernon's favourite sport.

{Yes, it doesn't matter. Now, that light is powered by your magic inside of you, like a lamp being powered...}

"Like electricity! So, magic is like electricity!" Harry interrupted Voldemort mid-speech.

{Well, yeees, if you want to think of it that way...} He really, really needed to remind himself who he was teaching, and why. Harry was just a boy; snapping at him now would gain nothing.

{Now, your sphere of light is powered by your magic. More magic means bigger sphere and brighter light... Good, imagine your magic powering that sphere... Yes. Right, very good. Now slowly open your eyes.}

Harry opened his eyes and gasped. Slightly hovering on his palm was a small sphere of pure white light. It was simply beautiful. His first conscious act of magic! As Harry watched it slowly dissipated.

{Your visualization is good. Did you know that you just complete a spell? That was called the lighting spell. Its incantation is '_lumos_', a latin term for light, but you don't need to say it. Wizards use it to see in the dark, like a lantern but much handier. Like all things, it took practice to maintain it. Again.}

Harry repeated forming the light sphere a number of times. Sometimes he made the sphere of light bigger, smaller, brighter, or dimmer following Voldemort's instruction. In time he could maintain it longer and longer.

{See? You're controlling the amount of magic you need for the spell. You can determine the brightness by how much magic you send to it... How much magic you use determine how powerful the spell that is produced. Some spells require only a small amount of magic. No need to waste your magic on something as simple as lighting spells...}

{Now on to the next part. I want you to try moving things with your magic.}

Harry looked around, trying to find something more interesting to try with. He saw a pouch containing something on the other side of the bed and was curious about it. Harry was about to move to take it when Voldemort commanded instead, {No, Harry, try taking it with your magic. Picture that thing clearly in your mind and _will_ it to move to you.}

Harry pictured the pouch and willed it to move. For a long while nothing happened.

{Concentrate! Picture it clearly. Imagine it coming towards you. And it will}

Well, nothing was happening no matter how hard he had concentrated and imagined it. Frustrated, Harry produced his sphere of light again. He tried moving the pouch with the sphere, but failed.

Voldemort simply drawled {Well of _course_ it won't move.}

Harry had not given up. He ignored Voldemort's comment; he was already used to people belittling him. He thought of another way to do it. His magic, _his_ way. He concentrated harder, now imagining his magic glowing inside his body, now coming out of his hands, now extending out from his fingers forming long, glowing tendrils of golden light. He tried to use the tendrils of magic to pull and push the pouch towards him. It finally moved an inch.

Harry gave a cheer.

Harry tried to make the tendrils of magic wrap around the pouch to move it faster. He wished he could grab the pouch with his hands, much easier... Suddenly Harry had a flash of inspiration; he imagined the glowing tendrils of magic merged and turned into a hand-shape. Harry imagined the glowing hand-shaped magic grabbed the pouch and carried it to him. Harry cried out in triumph when the glowing hand scooped up the pouch and dropped it onto his lap.

There was silence. Voldemort cleared his throat and said, {Well, that certainly isn't something that I expected.}

"What? Did I do it wrong?"

{No, Harry, different people do magic differently. It seemed that you prefer using magical manifestation while I prefer more on the mind visualization. My method is also used to perform spells with wands. But to each his own, I guess... So, what is in that thing?}

Harry pulled the string of the dusty pouch and out rolled two dozen or so marbles. "Dudley's old marbles. He got it on his fifth birthday. Some he won from his friends."

He remembered how jealous he was of Dudley that time. Now, it seemed that Dudley had outgrown or forgotten all about them. He rolled the marbles around and flicked them towards each other, like he saw Dudley and his friends did it.

{Use your magic to move them. This shall be your practice.}

But first, Voldemort wanted him to have better control of his magic. It had taken him a lot more effort and an even greater concentration to completely control the movement of the tendrils and the hands. Whenever he was distracted (deliberately by Voldemort), he lost control of his magic tendrils where it dissipated or, once, the glowing hand managed to whack him right across his face when he tried to move it towards him. And that _hurt_.

Finally, Harry got the hang of controlling his magic. Harry had a time of his life when he used his magic to play. He used the long tendrils of magic to direct the marbles towards him and bounce the marbles towards each other. Changing the magic tendrils to the glowing hand-shape, he floated the marbles with the glowing hand, juggled them and flicked them towards other marbles as targets. He had tried changing the hands to other shapes, but then found that the hand-shape was more fun and had even more possibilities. One time, as many as three different glowing hands were fighting to target the marbles. Harry was laughing heartily as he tried to wrestle the hands with each other, the marbles apparently forgotten. Voldemort had been pretty impressed; that feat of magic requires a lot of concentration, not to mention a high amount of magical reserve.

{Now, Harry, try not to make your magic glowing; it's too conspicuous. You can make it so that the tendrils and the hands of magic are invisible to others. You can sense or even see them since they are an extension of your own magic.}

This time Harry imagined his magic coming out like invisible strands. It was harder to control than before. But Harry could sense his magic and only needed to direct the movement and the formation in his mind. That was how he controlled his invisible strands of magic to form the hands and move the marbles and other things around and he could make it visible again if he wanted to. He had to admit though; the sights of things floating around his bedroom without any visible support reminded him of ghost stories. Now _that_ would be a good prank for Dudley.

{So, enough fun for today. We'll have to continue tomorrow.}

"But we only just started!"

{Really? Look at the time now.}

Harry was quite surprised when he looked at Dudley's old clock; it was already past four in the evening. He had practiced magic for half a day and he didn't even notice it! No, correction. Now after all the excitement, he realized he felt exhausted, like he had run a marathon for miles.

{Any longer and you'll deplete your magical reserve. You'll fall asleep on your feet until your magic recharges itself. With practice, you'd be able to perform magic longer. Now, go find something to eat to recharge.}

Voldemort thought that the amount of Harry's magical reserve was quite impressive. Wandless magic requires more power than magic done with a wand, and requires more concentration. Lesser wizards should have depleted his magical reserve faster and thus tired out quicker than Harry after that magical feat. And that he was only ten years old! Not that he'll ever tell Harry that.

Aunt Petunia had quickly scurried out of the kitchen upon hearing Harry coming, wanting to avoid him as much as she possibly can. Harry sighed; he thought being feared like he might kill someone was better than being beaten, scolded or ignored, but now... He had already apologized. Was there actually someone who would ever like him, and is there ever a place he would be accepted?

Harry made a simple dinner (he never had tea) for himself out of bread and some ham. Voldemort theorized that perhaps the boy's magical reserve had to compensate for the meagre amount of food he consumed for years. It had to somehow increase accordingly to sustain the boy so that he wouldn't die due to starvation. Now, the boy needed more food than ever due to practicing magic.

**A/N:**

**Told you it was hands-on magic (grins).**

**Anyway, the idea for 'magical hand' is from the first chapter of the story '****A Black Comedy' by Nonjon. I thought it was really cool.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Wards**

{After this, we'll need to have a look at the wards outside the house}, Voldemort said after Harry had eaten. He had worried about the wards for a while now, but the boy had been safe for years, and he had manifested magic before...

Harry walked around the perimeter of the house. Number 4, Privet Drive, like most of the houses in the neighbourhood had a garage, a medium-sized front lawn and a smaller patch of back garden. The house was separated from the neighbours by hedges. Aunt Petunia had also planted a flower garden at the front, full of flower pots and shrubs such as roses, petunias and some bougainvillea. Naturally, Harry had to be the gardener and maintain it.

{Now, Harry, send a pulse of your magic towards the perimeter. Remember, use a very, very small amount of magic, and think that you want only to observe it. The wards will detect your intent.}

"Like this?" Harry produced a small, marble-sized sphere of magic and directed it towards the edge of the hedge.

To his surprise, a wall of criss-crossing threads of lights materialized in front of him. It was really beautiful, like a spiderweb of colours; golden, silver, brown, blue, and red. It ran along the hedges, surrounding the house. Harry's sphere of magic merged with the wall of lights and suddenly Harry's chest briefly glowed golden in time with the pulse of the lights.

Following Voldemort's instruction, Harry searched around the perimeter for the ward anchors where the lights were most concentrated. He found the ward anchors at several places: warding stones carved with runes floating in a pocket of air, buried under the ground. The threads of lights seemed to merge around the stones while the stones feed pulses of magic directly to them.

{Now, the normal wards are there. Anti-apparition, anti-portkey, intent-based, and even an owl-redirection ward. But, the strangest is that one}, Voldemort indicated the golden threads {It was not anchored in the ward stones. Instead, it seems to tie directly to you}.

Indeed, the golden threads were the only one not fed by the pulses of magic from the stones, and they even went deeper into the ground than the rest of the threads.

"Was it the same one that glowed around me when the curse rebounded? And the same one that surrounds you now?" Harry referred to the golden dome around Voldemort that he had observed in the dreamscape.

{Apparently. So it seemed like the protection ritual done by your mother acted like wards here... Quite ingenious really...}

"Wonder how it works?" Harry observed it, sending another small pulse of magic to one of the golden thread, watching it and his chest glowed with it.

Suddenly there was a loud crash. A frightened scream of "Harry, what did you DO?!" was heard and Harry watched Aunt Petunia came running out to the front garden. One of her hand was clutching a ladle, the other clutching her chest which glowed brightly with the golden light.

{And that actually answers a lot of my questions} Voldemort said drily.

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia. I was just checking something. That won't happen again." The glow faded and Petunia sighed with relief. She was about to say something more to Harry when she remembered Harry's fit of rage and promptly shut up.

"Meeeow!"

Both Harry and Petunia turned towards the sound in surprise. They both saw a gray tabby cat near the rose bush. Aunt Petunia shouted, shooing the cat away with the ladle. The cat meowed loudly at Harry, and gave a lazy swish of its tail and turned around.

"That batty old lady! I've told her to keep her cats in cages! They're all over the place, what a nuisance!" Aunt Petunia ranted (raging at the old lady now, since she can no longer yell at Harry) and stormed back to the kitchen, most likely continuing the dinner preparation.

"That was one of Mrs Figg's cats. I can never remember their names, she had so many."

{Mrs. Figg?}

"The old lady two streets away. I stayed with her sometimes in the summer when the Dursleys went for holidays."

{An old lady? Hmm... What a coincidence...}

"What?"

{Harry, you really need to be more suspicious. The cat came right when we tested the wards. That might or might not be a normal cat. It might even be a wizard's familiar. Have you ever heard of them?}

"No, I just found out about magic a couple of days ago, remember?"

Total silence.

{Insolence is NEITHER appreciated NOR tolerated, Potter. Remember that before my patience run out or today will be the last day for your magic lessons.}

Harry gulped. He shouldn't have forgotten who was really teaching him.

{SO, as I was telling, familiars are wizards' or witches' pet that had bonded with them. The witches and wizards can understand their familiars easily and can communicate with them.}

"You think that Mrs Figg is a witch? But I've never saw her do any magic, and she can't be a witch just because she had lots of cats!" Harry frowned, thinking that was quite absurd.

{No, we can't assume that. She really might be just a batty old lady... But then again, we can't be too careful. Later we can pay her a visit to check that fact. I have been careless; I never thought that you already had a contact with another witch in _this_ kind of neighbourhood... this change the lesson plan a bit...}

"What plan?" Harry walked back towards the house. It was getting dark.

{I planned to check if you had any metamorph or shape-shifting ability after you master controlling your magic. But never mind that now. I believe you need to be able to protect your mind first. No one must found out about us. And I need to check you for monitoring and tracking charms. Should've done that before...} Voldemort continued to mutter.

Harry was distracted seeing a pair of glowing eyes near the hedge, watching him. Another cat? He quickly went inside the house, closing the front door, sighing with relief.

Harry saw Aunt Petunia still preparing dinner in the kitchen and couldn't help but grin. He didn't mind having so little dinner by himself, as he had no longer needed to prepare the table, clean-up after dinner, all the while listening to snide comments from Uncle Vernon on having to spend money to feed him or keeping him clothed. It seemed now that Aunt Petunia had to do everything herself, fat chance of Uncle Vernon or Dudley helping. And that made him remember what he wanted to ask.

"Before, why did Aunt Petunia and I glow with that golden light?"

{Well, to explain that I need to tell you about that Halloween night. Your mother had employed some kind of charms or rituals to protect you. She willingly used her life force as a form of sacrifice. Sacrificing a person's life force can generate a huge source of magic, more so if the person is magically powerful. That was partly why people were used as sacrifices in Ancient or Dark rituals... Now, that huge amount of magic generated by your mother's sacrifice was used to protect you so that I, and my magic, cannot touch you. That's why the curse rebounded. That's why I cannot control you; you think that I am a threat.}

{Now, a curious thing. The protection continued long after your mother's death. Why? I believed, and this is based from what I've observed, that your mother's blood and yours were used in that ritual. As your Aunt share your mother's blood, the protection might be continuously re-generated, and continued to protect you long after your mother's death. You will be protected from being harmed by my magic, and I believe from my followers, those with my Marks, as well.}

{But there seemed to be more to the protection. Will it last forever? Is it affected by distance between you and your Aunt? What other factors affected it? What kind of threats does it recognize? So many questions...}

'Well, my mother's really something...' Harry thought. He had not remembered his mother well, and his only memories were that Halloween night, but she was the most amazing, cleverest person that he had ever known to be able to think of such protection. He was proud of her, but sad at the fact she had died for him to live...

{Now, before you went to sleep tonight, try to think of a place that made you happy or safe. It would be for practice to protect your mind.}

Harry couldn't think of one place that he would feel happy. He always had to look out for Dudley and his gang. And certainly not here where he was yelled or beaten. Well, he'd think of something. Today had been a great day and nothing could change that.

That night, he fell asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow. It was the first time he slept without any worries, and he dreamed of his parents. They were smiling and laughing when he showed them his magical feats and praised him all the way...

**A/N:**

**Next chapter, Harry's mind sanctuary, aka mind defence aka occlumency. **

**Yes, this story is progressing at a snail's pace, sorry about that. Thank you for reading and as always, reviews are appreciated. **


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing related to Harry Potter. This is an amateur, non-profit work. I write for my own enjoyment. _

**Chapter 10: Harry's Sanctuary**

They started early next morning right after breakfast (Harry prepared his and ate alone). He holed up in his bedroom again for the day's lesson. He played with the marbles again, practicing controlling his magic tendrils and hands. He still didn't know what to call them; magical hands?

He found out that the further the marbles are, the higher amount of magic was needed to control and bring them to him. And even if he couldn't see the marbles, he could find and bring a particular marble to him using his magic as long as he was able to picture it clearly with his mind. Voldemort said with that he had perfected 'summoning' and 'levitation' charms already.

Voldemort was pleased with his progress and decided to start on the next lesson: mind magics.

{Now, this might seem a bit boring than the previous magic, but it was nevertheless very important. It is used to protect your mind and all the information that you knew. And you might find interesting applications for it later.} Voldemort snickered when he remembered what he applied them for.

{So, do you have a place for your sanctuary?}

Harry frowned, "Can I imagine one?" He was lounging on his bed, his back leaning against the wall. Voldemort said he should be relaxed and comfortable for this lesson.

{Yes, just visualize a place where you feel safe and comfortable. It can be a room, a castle, a beach, whatever suits you.}

Harry remembered his parent's house. Can that be his safe place? But Voldemort did destroy it. But he really liked the garden, so unlike Aunt Petunia's carefully maintained garden that simply looked cold to him. But his parents' garden looked inviting, where he could play and rolled around on the grass and no one will ever scold him.

He decided to imagine a garden, the grass freshly cut that he could still smell it. And there were bushes of roses and lilies (his mother's) and there was the fence surrounding the garden. There were trees that he could climb (away from Dudley and Aunt Marge's bulldogs) and he could see far away when he climbed on top of it. Yes, he could have a tree-house! He had thought of making one when he read it in a book, thinking that would be a lot better than a cupboard under the stairs. He could make the tree house the biggest in the world, built between the branches of the tallest tree so that he could climb on top of the tree and see everything. He would be like a king observing his realm. He would be safe up there, he could see from miles if anyone is coming to hurt him.

Voldemort was satisfied with Harry's creation. He asked Harry to describe the tree house more; how big was it? What is it made of? Are there any windows? How will you get up the house? How many rooms? And so on. Each detail is important, he said. Harry could see it clearly in his mind, he would have stairs, no, a ladder, that could be rolled down only for people that he trusted. He could have his own bedroom that has attached bathroom, a desk and a shelf for his books...

{How do you prevent people from climbing up the tree if they had a ladder?} Voldemort interrupted his dreaming. {What if they somehow can climb up the tree, how do you defend your house?}

He remembered his father and the wolves, fiercely fighting Voldemort.

"There are wolves guarding the tree below, so no one can come near the tree without me noticing. And there are fierce jaguars sitting on the tree branches, anyone who climbed the tree will be attacked by them... And if someone decides to fly up there, there are eagles or vultures that will attack them before they reach the tree." Harry hadn't forgotten that Halloween night memory; Voldemort could fly.

Harry began to devise more and more creative ways to prevent anyone from entering the tree house without his permission. He even made the tree house invisible so people cannot easily search for it. He put up another tree house, visible this time – _a guard house_, he said, so if anyone climbed that one, he will know someone had come searching for the tree house. He made the fence around the garden too high to climb, and stronger so no one can break it down and also too slippery to climb. He also put some alarm at the fence. Should he have a gatekeeper?

{No, that's good enough. But, say, if, if someone somehow managed to bypass all your protections and entered your tree house, how will you get rid of him?}

"Well, I shall have guard dogs. Huge, fierce dogs that will attack any intruders." Huge, fierce black dogs that was friendly only to him and no one else, so unlike Aunt Marge's bulldogs. Harry thought he really shouldn't let other vicious beasts inside the house. It wouldn't be a sanctuary for him anymore if he does!

"And then I'll put a trapdoor in the tree house; any intruders will fall through hundreds of feet below to the ground!" Harry added, rightly thinking that anyone who's stupid enough to enter his sanctuary without permission will be in for a nasty time.

{Now, Harry, imagine that tree house is where your mind is. It has everything; it stored your precious memories, everything that you've learned, all your deepest, darkest secrets... Your mind is the most important part of you; it is what makes you, _you_. That's why you had to protect it well. There are wizards who can read your mind, knowing your secret and then blackmail you for it. He can alter your memories, made you forget you were and made you think you were someone else. They can tell you to do something that you would never do, even made you kill yourself.}

Harry swallowed hard. He had no idea that there exist those kinds of magic.

{So you see, that was why you need to learn how to defend your mind from such attacks. This art of defending your mind is called _occlumency_. And the reading of other people's mind is called _legilimency_.}

{What you have described so far is the outer defence. It was good; you had the alarm, the fence, and guards. You even have a decoy; that guard house that you described. I suggested you can put misleading memories, or things that you wanted other people to know at the guard house. But your mind inner defence, the tree house itself is weak.}

{You need to remember that in a mindscape, you were in control. It is where imagination is and anything's possible. When people attack your mind, they tried taking control of it as fast as possible. They either enter through the front door and attacking directly with brute force, or stealthily through your weak holes in your defence. They would have to manifest themselves though, since our mind can recognize a foreign presence. But we'd have to go more into the inner mind defence later... Right now, I need your mind to be more organized, so we can keep and search for information easier. And we need to store your secrets somewhere safer.}

Harry then made his tree house have multiple rooms for storing the memories and for better organization. He kept the memories in something like photo albums – easier to search, he told Voldemort. He made a room for his memories in school and all that he'd learned – math, science, history, arts, and all the rest, kept in albums and arranged on shelves... He made another room for all the magic that Voldemort had thought him, and that was his favourite room: his magic room. Another room was set up like a shrine for his parents; though for now it was only filled with what he got from Voldemort's memories. Another room was for his life with the Dursleys; he really hated that room and wanted to seal it.

{You know, Harry, other wizards sometimes have dungeons, or safe boxes that can store all their deepest secrets, or memories that hated or they wanted to forget}, Voldemort suggested.

'Tree houses don't have dungeons,' thought Harry. Then he grinned, that would be what people expected, right? So he imagined that the tree trunk was hollow. He could have stairs, or better yet, a lift, inside the trunk where he could go down from the house right into the ground underneath the tree. There he'd have rooms to store his hated memories and deepest secrets. Like the beatings from Uncle Vernon and Dudley and his gang, the insults and the starving, his cupboard under the stairs, his daily servant-like routine at the Dursleys.

Unfortunately, he also had the memories that he had tortured Uncle Vernon and hurt the Dursleys. Now _that_ particular memory needed to be kept in a safe box, locked with a code that only he knew, placed inside a locked room down in the dungeons. But he'd never forget the expression on Aunt Petunia's face, when she begged him to spare her son. He caught her expression and kept it like a photo, and hidden it in the shrine room upstairs to serve as a painful remainder for him: never, _ever_, give in to his rage. The consequences would be terrible.

Another thing that needed its own room in the dungeon was his deepest secret: the fact that Voldemort was bound to him.

{Yes, I imagine that people would not be too happy that the one that had destroyed the Dark Lord now harbours his soul, now would they?}

Oh yes, the wizarding world was paranoid. They would easily kill the boy if they thought that would ensure the Dark Lord is destroyed. Who cares if an innocent life is lost? That would be considered a noble sacrifice, for the greater good of the wizarding world.

The rest of the day was spent with Harry in his mindscape organizing the rest of his memories, testing and fortifying the defence. Or so he said. If it meant him playing with the wolves and the huge black dogs (he thought they were strangely familiar), or climbing the rolled-down ladder and swinging from the tree branches, well, Voldemort had nothing to say. Harry however did manage to make the windows have impenetrable barriers, and made the tree vines wrapped around any intruders and bound and strangle them. All in all he felt his mind sanctuary was pretty well protected.

**A/N: **

**I may have gone overboard with the description. But well, I'd love to have a sanctuary of my own too, if only. **

**Another fic recommendation: 'Battered Hearts' by PerfesserN –it's a mystery fic, but it has an interesting view on effects of occlumency, and quite an illuminating look on Dumbledore's actions as well. **

**Next, Revealing Ritual.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Revealing ritual**

_All in all he felt his mind sanctuary was pretty well protected._

That night, when Harry was asleep, Voldemort tested Harry's defence, or more accurately, Harry's occlumency barrier. He had deemed Harry's mind was _adequately_ protected (his words), but unless Harry can withstand another skilled legilimens attack, he must not be over-confident with himself. Voldemort had learned that the hard way after all.

xxxxx

The next day Voldemort decided that it was about time to check Harry for the presence of tracking charms and other things before learning any more magic. He had to resort to use a ritual, a more complex and tedious method since the boy had no wand. For the ritual, they had to use Aunt Petunia's decorative ceramic plates to serve as replacement for the stone slabs for the runes (Oh, if people ever heard what Voldemort was reduced to using...)

{You are going to perform your first ritual, Harry. We need a bit of your blood.}

Harry was understandably hesitant. But Voldemort explained that blood has powerful magical properties and thus an important element in many rituals. Since they neither had any wands to do the detection charm nor any potions ingredients, well, the blood ritual would have to do.

Voldemort made Harry practiced drawing runes, the strange inscriptions on paper until they were flawless. He explained the runes: body, mind, life-force (soul), magic, and blood. These would be the five base runes for the ritual. The other runes would be the aim of the ritual: track, compulsion, block, reveal, and remove.

Harry made a nick on his forefinger with a kitchen knife. With his finger, he used his blood to draw the rune for 'body' on the back of a plate. He drew the next base rune on a different plate so that he had a plate for each of the base runes. Then he drew the other five runes in a smaller size around the base rune. In the end he had five plates with different base runes: body, mind, life-force, magic, and blood and on each plate surrounding the base runes were the runes for track, compulsion, block, reveal, and remove.

That finished, Harry sat on the floor, cross-legged. Following Voldemort's instruction, Harry had arranged the plates in a circle around him and he faced the plate with the 'magic' as the base rune. Harry imagined and sensed his strands of magic reaching out and touched the plate. The blood runes glowed brightly, and he repeated sending his magic to the rest of the plates. When all five plates were glowing, without warning, a blood-red light emerged from each plate and criss-crossed with each other, forming a pentacle of light around Harry. The blood-red pentacle was humming with power and the air crackle with magic.

{Brace yourself.}

Harry opened his mouth to ask why when suddenly the lights suddenly rushed towards him, slamming directly into his body. Harry felt his body tingled with the magic; pulsing, pushing, prodding all over. It was a discomforting feeling, but thankfully not painful. With shock Harry realized that glowing blood-red runes were starting to appear underneath his skin.

{Don't panic. They will disappear as soon as we got out of this pentacle. Let's see.}

Voldemort clicked his tongue, {Someone must be really interested in you, Harry. Someone very powerful, from the look of these. That's tracking charm; he'd find you wherever you go. I wonder how far the range of the detection is... Now, that's life-force monitoring charm; obviously he wanted to know that you're still alive.}

Harry was conflicted. There was someone out there that cared if he was alive? But why didn't that person ever come to see him? Or at least check up on him? Hadn't the person realized he was about to die by Vernon's hands? Didn't they care at all if he was treated like a slave and was simply miserable?

{There's no memory-blocking charm...no magic-blocking charm... Ah, nasty one, a compulsion charm. Let's see... Hmm... it makes you consider this as your home and will never leave it for another...}

"But I've NEVER considered this my home!"

{That meant you resisted part of this compulsion after all. But Harry, have you ever thought of running away from this house, after all that they did to you? Or at least report it to someone?}

Harry spluttered, "But-but here at least I have a roof over my head! And at least I have _something_ to eat! And I had no money to run away! How can I live by myself? And if-if..."

{Good, you're thinking rationally. So you're not as stupid as you look. But you see, a part of it was from this compulsion. You were afraid, afraid someone will make you leave this house if they ever found about how you were treated.}

Or perhaps, Harry had started to believe all the vile words Petunia and Vernon had spewed over the years, and thought that he was a freak, useless and hated, and that everyone else thought so of him as well. And that he had no place to go as no one would ever accept him anywhere. Why would anyone, when his own relatives hated him?

Harry was shaking when he asked, "Do you know who did this?"

Voldemort considered his answer carefully, {I'm not sure, but I can give a good guess. We have to discuss this later. Now Harry, we need to finish this first, much longer and those who placed the charms might come.}

"Well, let them come then!" Harry was indignant; he'd really like to meet the ones who would do such things to him.

Voldemort chuckled, {Letting your anger over your head again, Harry? Do _think_. You will be easily overpowered. You really don't want to answer their questions. And it is better not to show our hands too early. Don't you think it is better if they didn't know that you knew about these charms?}

Harry had to admit that Voldemort was right. "But the charms can be removed, right?"

{Yes. But I don't think we should remove the tracking and monitoring charms. Once we removed them, the caster will find out. Don't worry; we can transfer the tracking charm to something else.}

"The compulsion?" Harry asked.

{That one can be removed, I believe. Now let's start.}

The process required a lot of his magic and concentration that left Harry exhausted. He had to use his own magic strands and directed them to the runes of the compulsion charm on his skin, pushing it and pulling it off his body. Once out of his body, he placed the compulsion charm (now shaped like a long red string of different runes) on one point of the pentacle. It pulsed and then disappeared, absorbed into the pentacle's magic.

He repeated the effort to take off the tracking charm.

{Now transfer the charm to your glasses.}

"Wouldn't they be able to track it when I wear the glasses?"

{Well, you need to place it on something close to you, something important. You still have to carry the charm sometimes, otherwise it will be suspicious. Only when you wanted to go somewhere, ah, _questionable_, you don't have to wear it. Anyway, you can always get different glasses.}

Harry was doubtful about getting another pair of glasses, not when he hadn't change to a different pair since he was five. But he complied, reasoning that he could remove the tracking charm later. He only needed to perform the ritual again, right? Urgh, not more blood...

They finished the ritual soon after. The pentacle of light had vanished when Harry gathered the plates away. Harry's skin had also returned to normal as the runes disappeared. Harry decided he wanted to keep the plates instead of returning them to the cupboard after washing the blood away. With bleach, no less.

"So, can you tell me now who placed the charms on me?"

{I've told you the person who did them is very powerful. And I can say that there's only one person that can match my power; one Albus Dumbledore. But this is merely a guess.}

"Not _Dumbledore_ again?" Harry knew about Voldemort's hatred for Dumbledore. He thought Voldemort can be a bit... biased.

{Oh yes. He's the most likely person. Let's see. He had all the power, he had the connection if he so chooses, and he practically hold the British wizarding nation in his hands! He can do anything and everyone will agree to it...}

"What do you mean?"

{I meant the fact that he holds three most influential positions in the wizarding world. One, he's the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the nation's school for magical children; also Head of Wizengamot, that's the British wizarding parliament (well, sort of); also Head of ICW, a confederation for all magical nations in the world! Imagine that! It's simply absurd how a single person can hold so much power!} Well, unless the person was him of course.

Harry frowned, "So, what's someone like that had to do with me?"

{You haven't forgotten the Prophecy have you? Add to that you were the only one able to survive the killing curse, from _me_ no less, so yes; I think he had everything to do with you. The question is, when did he place the charms? Is he the one who put you here?

And Harry, I think it's about time we have a talk with your Aunt, don't you think?}

**A/N**:

I couldn't find anywhere that stated exactly when Dumbledore became 'Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot', and 'Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards', so in this story I assume he already hold both titles before and during the First War.

Next, **Petunia and a glimpse of the truth...**

Thank you for reading, and reviews are always appreciated.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing related to Harry Potter. This is an amateur, non-profit work. I write for my own enjoyment. _

Thank you for the reviews and feedback. They really, really made me happy. Now on to the story.

**Chapter 12: Petunia & Lily, or, a Glimpse of the Truth**

_{And Harry, I think it's about time we have a talk with your Aunt, don't you think?}_

Aunt Petunia, it seemed, held the answer to a lot of questions: how did she know about Voldemort? His parents' death? Who left Harry at the Dursleys? What other secrets did she hold?

Harry decided to corner Aunt Petunia that evening. Harry found her reading some papers in the living room and stood in the doorway, waiting for Aunt Petunia to notice his presence. Finally Aunt Petunia looked up from the papers and saw him. Harry noticed her eyes were red and puffy; she had been crying.

She looked nervously at Harry, all the while her eyes darting to the door and to the windows. Harry wanted to laugh at the irony of it.

But it seemed that Petunia had more guts than people credited her for when she quietly said, "Good, you're here. There's something I'd like to tell you."

She took a deep breath and said, "We, I mean Vernon, Dudley and I will be going for holiday next weekend. You will be staying with Mrs Figg as usual." She didn't look at Harry in the eye when she said it.

{She's hiding something.}

'What do you mean?' Harry asked but Voldemort didn't answer. He had forgotten Voldemort couldn't hear his thoughts anymore.

"How long will you be gone?"

"A week."

"When will you go?"

"Next Saturday." She replied almost automatically.

Harry frowned. Something was wrong but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The summer vacations were not unusual. Every summer usually the Dursleys will go on a holiday vacation, without taking him of course, often to the beaches nearby, twice to the beaches in France and just last year Uncle Vernon took the family for a five-day trip to Majorca (Aunt Petunia simply had been unbearable).

That's it, thought Harry. Usually Aunt Petunia will be unbearable all the way until the day of the trip, always gushing about how nice of Vernon to took time off work, spending time and money with the family, how nice to be able to escape the dreary life for the sun and the sea, spending time with precious Diddykins, until Harry was simply sick of hearing about the upcoming trip. It didn't help either that Dudley gloated _after_ the trip, showing Harry pictures of the family enjoying themselves.

This time however, Aunt Petunia didn't look happy at all; she didn't even tell Harry where they will be going.

Something was definitely wrong.

"Aunt Petunia? Where will you go for the trip?"

She finally looked up at Harry. "Paris."

And then Harry was hit with the images of Vernon shouting; of papers flying, of Aunt Petunia shouting back at Vernon.

Harry staggered. What was that? Did he saw... Did he really just read his Aunt's mind? He was just standing here in the doorway...

{Ah. Your Aunt is really upset about something. The holiday maybe?}

Harry stared into his Aunt's eyes. They were mixed with emotions; fear, anger, and... pleading?

More images flashed in Harry's mind. He could clearly see Uncle Vernon, his face purple with anger, shouting. What was he shouting? Harry tried to hear his voice. Yes, Vernon was angry that the _freak_, him, dared to hit him in his own house. That he couldn't stay here while always looking over his shoulder, scared shitless of a ten-year old boy. That- that no good freak will kill them in their sleep, in his own house!

Aunt Petunia, shouting, pleading. Always pleading, crying, _Don't throw him out. They'd find us. They will._

Vernon throwing papers. The ultimatum. _Just leave the freak here! _

And Harry understood. Uncle Vernon was so scared of him, of what he had done. Wanted to leave him here, to fend for himself.

For a brief moment Harry felt so happy that he didn't have to live with the Dursleys anymore. He'd have the house to himself! Then ice cold sensation hit his chest...

{Yes, what about the protection? The wards? Will it stay when your mother's blood relative move away?}

Harry started. Had Voldemort able to read his mind again?

Aunt Petunia looked away. She didn't notice Harry's pale face.

"Aunt Petunia? Are you leaving me here?" Harry, feeling faint, slowly walked over to Aunt Petunia and sit across her.

Petunia had looked shocked at the question but quickly recovered herself. "It's only for a week. You'll stay at Mrs Figg's like usual. I'll inform her tomorrow."

Harry stared at his Aunt and he was hit with another flurry of images.

More papers. Letters to and from Grunnings, the drilling firm where his Uncle worked. Uncle Vernon talking to Petunia, explaining**. **Uncle Vernon who had begged for transfer to the branch in Paris (any branch outside UK really, out of reach of _those_ people), and he didn't even care if he ends up with a slightly lower position, as long as he can leave the freak behind... He could always work back to that position he said...

And then Harry understood. They will use the vacation to look for a home there... before leaving him here.

More memories, thoughts... Aunt Petunia, torn between getting rid of the freak, and leaving her home where she had stayed for over a decade. Going for a place where she didn't know anyone. Can't communicate with anyone (she didn't speak French, if they managed to move there). And what will happen to darling Dudders! He will have to transfer school! He won't like it, leaving his friends behind! And so Harry saw where Dudley had been hiding the past few days: at his friend's, Piers' house.

Ah, yes... Aunt Petunia had always doted on Dudley and loved him more than anything... Harry could feel himself wanting to shout, why couldn't she love _him_ like that?

And what was he supposed to do now? Uncle Vernon was scared of him. Aunt Petunia hated him. Dudley, well, now scared of him as well. They were now leaving him here. With Voldemort. Now they will take away the only protection he had over his parents' killer...

Harry wished they could all forget about the incident, his rage. Harry wished they didn't hate him. Harry wished they loved him like their own...

"Why did you hate me so much, Aunt Petunia?" Harry finally asked, after the silence stretched uncomfortably.

Petunia Dursley looked over at her nephew. Lily's son. Lily's eyes.

She looked away. Too much hurt.

But Harry, unconsciously, had already delved into his Aunt's mind... Memories of Lily, his mother. Beautiful, kind, intelligent Lily... Petunia, who loved her little sister, so close they were inseparable... Lily, who met a strange boy, who took her away from Petunia, taught her magic, strange things... Lily, who was _special_, a witch, who left her to go to a _special_ school, a privileged school. Lily, who had drifted away, leaving her. Lily, who was loved by everyone, doted on by her parents. Petunia, who was overlooked. Always. Lily, the one who got everything... Beautiful, kind, intelligent, gifted with magic... Gifted with _everything_... And on and on...

_Loneliness. Jealousy. Bitterness._

And Petunia, who didn't have anything, neither looks, nor intelligence, nor magic... Did she have a kind heart initially? Harry thought that yes she did, but perhaps she had lost it along the way...

And then Lily snagged the rich, handsome Potter boy, and Petunia didn't even bother to come to her wedding. Why should she? For Lily to rub it on her face? Petunia, married already to Vernon. Vernon, neither rich nor handsome, but had work hard and managed to get a respectable job. And who loved her for all she is. Lily didn't matter anymore; her freakishness and her people didn't matter.

Dudley, her son, born. Her precious, darling son.

The bundle on the doorstep. Harry. Lily's. And all the memories keep repeating...

Harry closed his eyes. He somehow understood, he thought. Wasn't it the same feeling he had when he saw Dudley with Aunt Petunia?

Harry felt like crying.

Who had left him here? To someone who could have never love him, for too much bitterness was there? Didn't they know? That they all would end up miserable? Wasn't there other place where he could be safe, _and_ loved?

Petunia was staring at Harry strangely. He had looked paler than before. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing, nothing... Aunt Petunia, I just wanted to know," Harry steeled himself, "Did you know who put me here? The one who left me on the doorstep?" Harry was always reminded by his Aunt on that little fact.

Petunia was surprised with the questions. Her first thought was to scold him, but then she remembered his rage, his _red_ eyes... And she didn't have to face him anymore, if Vernon had his way...

"Yes. Your people. Dumbledore; the headmaster of the school your parents went to. He just left you, a baby, outside on the doorstep like a _milk bottle_. Right in the middle of the cold night! No common sense at all. He simply left a letter telling me everything, and _instructing_ me to take you in." Petunia sniffed.

_Dumbledore again..._

"Can I see the letter?"

"I already burned it."

"Why did you take me in after all?"

Petunia hesitated before answering wearily, "We tried finding you an orphanage the next day. We didn't even manage to get two blocks away from here. That man Dumbledore came and did something... magic... and he said that he can always find you wherever you are. Will know if something happened to you... And he said as long as you're here, you will be protected from those who wanted to kill you... for revenge for their fallen Dark Lord... And then of course Vernon got angry, why should we take you in, risking our lives, why can't your people took care of you and their own problem?"

Petunia continued, "Well then, he said we are already at risk as I was related to Lily. To Lily and her magic! The thing that kill her in the first place! And he said by letting you live here, yes, we would be protected as well, as the blood that runs in my veins is related to the blood in yours... And so against our better judgement, we agreed." Petunia crossed her arm in defiance.

And Harry saw an old man, tall, thin, with a long, white beard, wearing half-moon spectacles. He was wearing some kind of a dress, a garishly purple dress, with moon and stars moving around. Really moving, thought Harry.

{That's Dumbledore.} _Obviously_.

In his fit of anger, Vernon had tried to attack Dumbledore but the old man waved his wand and Vernon went completely rigid, bound by invisible ropes. He couldn't move a muscle, not even a squeak can come out of his mouth. Only his eyes showed genuine fear.

_No wonder Vernon was afraid of magic, _came the thought, unbidden.

After watching Dumbledore did something outside the house- _the wards_, and thus had fulfilled his half of the promise, protecting the Dursleys and him, Harry felt that he didn't want to know anything anymore...

Harry abruptly left the living room and the bewildered Aunt Petunia, feeling increasingly wretched.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

In the darkness of Harry's bedroom that night...

{You know, Harry, it wasn't your fault that they didn't love you.}

Silence.

{It wasn't your fault that you were born with magic either.}

More silence.

{Nor it was your fault that your Aunt and Uncle hated magic...}

"I know!" Harry wanted to scream, wanted to kick something. Why did he have to face this situation? Why did these kinds of things keep happening to him? Did Fate hate him so much?

What should he do, he miserably wondered. Would the protection stayed without Aunt Petunia here? He would only know when the golden dome surrounding Voldemort disappeared, and by then it might be too late. He didn't know exactly what would happen if the protection disappeared, but he can bet that Voldemort would control his body, or his mind, or both, and made him do something even worse than torturing the Dursleys. Things that he'd regret forever. He might not even be himself anymore. And now he's still not powerful enough to face Voldemort and defeat him, this time forever.

Harry sighed. He really, really hated his life.

Harry wished his life would change, and he could be a normal boy, living in a normal family who loved him. Harry wished Aunt Petunia didn't hate him. Harry wished she loved him like she loved Dudley. Harry wished she could forget that he had magic, that she had hated his mother.

Harry wished he could make Uncle Vernon forgot that he had tortured him... forgot that he had hated strange things, magic, so that they didn't have to move away...

Harry simply wished he could change everything...

And then he realized... Magic. Magic caused this in the first place, hadn't it? So magic should be the thing that could solve this, right?

And so it began.

**A/N:**

**Next, Petunia's regret.**


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing related to Harry Potter. This is an amateur, non-profit work. I write for my own enjoyment. _

**Chapter 13: Petunia's Regret**

It was uncanny, thought Voldemort, how alike his and the boy's childhood were. They were both raised around muggles who hated them. They were both orphans, never knowing the truth about their parents until after finding out about magic. They were isolated, treated with fear and contempt by those surrounding them, due to the fear of the strange and the unknown, of _magic_. All they ever wanted was for a place to be called home, a place where they'll be accepted for who they are. And then he, Voldemort, had used his special abilities to retaliate, forever punish the kids who had taunted him and causing him grief. And now the boy had decided to use it on his tormentors...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Vernon was a disgruntled man. He had a tiring day; he had to work later than usual as he had so much to do before he can transfer to the branch in Paris. He came home late that evening and found a very strange sight.

In the dining room, his wife Petunia was laughing (and that itself was a strange sight), and sitting across her was the _freak_, animatedly telling her a story. Dudley was sitting beside Petunia listening to Harry, apparently transfixed with the tale. Occasionally he too laughed out loud upon hearing the strange and funny things that happened to the young sorcerer in Harry's story.

Vernon could feel his body started to twitch uncontrollably. He was reminded of the day of the incident and felt his heart clenched with fear.

What did the freak do? What had he done to Petunia? And Dudley?

And then the freak saw him and _smiled_...

"Vernon!" Petunia exclaimed, seeing her husband standing immobile at the doorway.

"Harry here has been telling us the stories he read. There was this... Vernon, are you okay? Vernon!" Vernon heard Petunia screamed as he was engulfed in the darkness.

xxxxxxxx

Hours ago, that very morning...

After a long night, Harry had confronted Petunia again. He found her in her bedroom, packing clothes into trunks in preparation for the holiday trip. She was startled to see Harry.

"What do you want?" Her voice was cutting. Harry was the cause of everything that had went wrong in her life after all.

Harry looked at her. Really looked at her.

"Was it so hard to forget? To forgive?"

"What are you talking about?" She was getting nervous with the look Harry was giving her.

"Calm down, Aunt Petunia." He walked over to her.

"Take _slow_, _calming_ breath..." There was _power_ in his words as he had laced them with his magic, just like what Voldemort had taught him the night before. Voldemort had impressed upon him the power of spoken words and their inflection, otherwise why would people use incantations for charms and rituals?

Petunia's breathing seemed to slow down. Her posture relaxed.

"Your eyes are getting heavier... _Sleep_... _Somnus._" As Harry stressed the last word, Petunia's eyes closed and she slumped to the floor.

And then Harry delved into her mind, intentionally this time. Delving into the far back of her mind, Harry found more happy memories of little Lily and Petunia, laughing, playing, and holding hands together that made Harry smile. The rare memories of Petunia's parents praising her, saying she was special, beautiful and clever in her own way. He put them all at the forefront of her mind.

Harry found other memories of Lily that Petunia had tried hard to forget. Lily's letters from Hogwarts: how terribly scared but excited Lily was, how the boy Sev were still friends with her even though they had different _dorms_, how exciting to learn new things, make new friends, how different but amazing everything, magic, was. And how Petunia tried to make it look like she didn't care at all, but deep inside, she was terribly jealous of Lily, of her strange but exciting world.

Harry buried those bitter memories in the back of her mind... But found that there was not much else that he could do to make the decades of bitterness go away.

Harry found the memory of Dumbledore's threats... He locked them inside a safe box.

He found the memories of Vernon beating him to near death, Petunia shouting at him to _please stop_. Memories of him torturing Vernon, of her crying, pleading to spare Dudley from his rage. He put them all in the safe and locked it away.

Will these be enough? Would these change the way Petunia look at him?

{I already told you Harry; there _is_ an easier way to do this...} Voldemort said.

{You could just- _tell_ them to treat you like their own son... to love you and be like a family to you... And with magic, they will simply _obey_ you...} He added delicately after Harry didn't say anything.

"...Would they still remember that they hated me?"

{You can make them forget that as well... And they cannot do anything anyway, their will is yours. They will do everything you wanted them to...}

But then, thought Harry, deep in their heart, they still hated him, right? They still thought him as a freak, right?

He wanted them to accept him for who he is.

Aunt Petunia hated him because of his mother, who had everything she didn't have. But then, didn't she feel sad at all over her death?

Harry searched her memories. He found Aunt Petunia saying Lily deserved it; the one thing, _magic_, that drove her away, that make her _special_ had killed her after all. Harry had heard it all before but it still hurt.

But surely, surely there was at least some love left?

Not love, Harry found, but _regret_. There was the tiniest regret that Aunt Petunia had pushed away. The things that she said right before Lily went to board the train to Hogwarts for the first time. Hurtful things that Petunia wanted to take back, but then too angry, too prideful to do so. To apologize.

The thought that Lily was dead and she would never make peace with Lily and herself, for those hurtful remarks that made the rift between them irreparable. Harry almost wept with it. He brought out this feeling, _regret,_ to the front. Amplified it tenfold.

Nearly ten years of Harry, Lily's son treated like a servant, beaten, hated. Cupboard under the stairs. _Regret_.

Memories of Dudley, being praised for doing little things... Dudley, loved for all that he was. And Harry, hated for all that he was. That all Harry ever wanted was for someone to accept him, to love him. Just like her.

_Regret._

It had taken him hours.

Aunt Petunia woke up on her bed, feeling disoriented. She saw Harry standing next to her bed, a damp cloth on his hand.

"What happened?"

"You fainted. Are you okay now?" Harry looked genuinely concerned.

"Yes- yes I think." There was a dull throbbing inside her head. "Too tired I guess. I need to-" What does she need to do now? What was she doing before?

She looked up at Harry. And stared into Lily's eyes. All the memories rushed forward and slammed into the front of her mind.

And then, without warning, she started to cry, "I'm so sorry Harry. So sorry..."

She wept, apologizing for all the things that she had said about him, about his mother, his father, all that she had done, had let happen, and all the things that she could have done...

She wept for the cupboard under the stairs, for the contempt, for all the cruel words, and most terrible of all, for how she had looked the other way whenever Vernon beat him...

She regretted everything.

How could she, a _mother_, do the things she did to her sister's son, who had done nothing to receive such treatments? It wasn't his fault he was born with magic, nor was it Lily's fault. And for ten years she had let her resentment and bitterness towards Lily affected her treatments of Harry. And he was just a boy. A sweet boy, just like Dudley.

Harry stiffened as Aunt Petunia suddenly hugged him, all the while crying, asking him to forgive her. It was the first time Harry was hugged by anyone, and he was so shocked he simply didn't know how to react.

And then as suddenly, Harry's stomach gave a low growl and Petunia wiped her tears and chuckled, "You were hungry, weren't you? I'll go and prepare some food."

And Harry watched simply flabbergasted as Aunt Petunia got up and started to make her way to the kitchen.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was easier with Dudley; he didn't have decades of Petunia's bitterness.

Harry simply made Dudley forget the torture incident by locking it away.

But what about the bullying? The beatings, 'Harry Hunting', and the isolation as other students simply avoid Harry to avoid the wrath of Dudley and his gang?

Harry went back over the years of memories.

Little Dudley at first was simply trying to gain approval of his father, making him proud. Vernon, who had praised Dudley whenever he managed to hit or get one over Harry, saying he was his father's son; tough and bow to no one. Over the years, the bullying reached the stage where Dudley was enjoying the feeling of being the one in power, in control, as he and his gang watched Harry suffer.

And Harry had never fight back. He knew the punishments from Vernon were more than Dudley can ever give. And Aunt Petunia simply praised her precious Diddykins no matter what he'd done. And no one had done anything to help Harry.

No more, thought Harry.

Dudley had to understand fear. Had to understand repercussion for his actions.

Harry made Dudley know there was someone out there that was much, much stronger than him; one that can make him piss in his pants. He put the feeling of terror in Dudley's mind; the fear that there was alwayssomeone watching him, waiting to strike him whenever he toed out of line. Harry thought that was a fitting punishment to the one who had subjected him to the same things for years.

These were enough, for now.

The next one will be Vernon.

**A/N:**

**Well... Part obliviation, part memory modifications, part... **_**compulsions**_**? **

**Last chapter, Petunia & Lily is one of my favourite chapters... you can find more interactions between young Petunia & Lily in 'T****he****Thief of Time'****, by ****Tink Wolfe**** (my favourite HP fic ever!) ****where I got the idea****. **

**-Update: This is where I'm stuck, I've rewritten the next chapter at least five times and well, until I can say I make a progress with 3 new chapters, please consider the story on hiatus. I'm really terribly sorry. Thank you for reading. **


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